


Learning to Fly

by vienn_peridot



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Chronic Pain, Cross-Caste Relationship, Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Drama, Festival of the FIve, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I think?, Intrigue, Medical Experimentation, Non-Human Humanoid Society, Other, Romance, Unethical Experimentation, shadowplay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-12
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-05-06 07:37:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5408444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vienn_peridot/pseuds/vienn_peridot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a universe more Functionalist than not, two Sparks that were never supposed to meet will cross paths.<br/>As the lives of these two Sparks intertwine they learn things they are not supposed to; Knight Aspirant Wing discovers the truth of the world he lives in and Rung slowly comes to understand that life can be enjoyed instead of simply endured.<br/>This illicit knowledge brings danger and the survival of these two sparks will come at a cost.</p><p>(Characters+tags will be updated as we go. May have to upg)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> Screw it, I want to get this show on the road.
> 
> ... My apologies for both the godawful summary AND the cheesy cliche first meeting scenario. These two assholes ALWAYS try to kill me with fluff and romantic bullshit *hacks up a few hairballs* 0.0;

# ONE

 

Wing was running late.

His first day of classes and he was late.

It wasn't the best way to start the year but there was nothing he could do about it. The sheer amount of air traffic clogging the flight lanes between the citadel and university campus had taken the knight apprentice completely by surprise. Wing had never really needed to go through the city at this time of day so he’d seriously misjudged how much time it would take to reach his destination.

As he approached the campus Wing could see rivers of mechanisms moving between buildings in calm streams of pede-traffic that merged and overlapped at apparent cross-purposes but nobody seemed to actually collide. Everyone looked as if they knew exactly where they were going and what they were doing, which was the total opposite of how the apprentice knight felt. He touched down in the campus’ Flightframe landing area just as the last few student mecha were trickling into various buildings through doors that were big enough to allow someone the height and width of Dai Atlas to pass comfortably though.

Wing hurried off the landing pad, not even waiting for the last of his transformation sequence to finish first. Nobody was paying attention to him, most people were busy or already in the lecture halls. He _thought_ he knew where he was supposed to go to get to his first class, but he wasn’t entirely sure. There was _supposed_ to have been enough time to double-check the room’s ID code with a campus map once he got here, but the map terminals were all in the main Admin building. It was in the opposite direction to the one he thought he was supposed to be heading in so there was no time now to double back and make sure. Not if he didn’t want to miss most of the lecture. Wing would just have to go where he thought the place was and hope for the best.

Preoccupied and worried Wing hurried across the open plaza, ignoring the tasteful landscaping he already knew from devouring all the promotional materials and the various open days he’d attended. He was nearly at what he hoped was the right causeway to take him to the Geology buildings when he charged right into another pedestrian.

All altmode traffic on the campus grounds was subject to severe restrictions for safety reasons so Wing stumbled and recovered quickly, but the smaller mech didn’t do anywhere near as well in dealing with the unexpected collision. He went sprawling, dropping his armload of datapads with a loud clatter and clang that sent horrified guilt surging through the apprentice knight’s energon lines. Wing immediately forgot the need to get to class, dropping to one knee and extending a hand to the small mech.

“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking where I was going. Are you alright?” He asked, filling his Field and glyphs with as much contrition as he could.

Now that he was paying attention it was hard to imagine how he’d managed to overlook the other mech enough to actually run into him, even though he was of roughly minibot height. The mech’s slim build was of some obscure civilian type with next to no kibble that would suggest a recognisable altmode. His bright orange and cream plating was now marred with scrapes of white from Wing’s armour that brought a surge of heat to his faceplates and made his cheekpanels flatted to his helm with embarrassment, as they were all around the edges of a large toughened-glass panel that was set dead-center in the middle of his torso.

_Holy Primus, is it a biolight or is that filtered sparklight?_

All in all, the little mech was so distinctive Wing really should have been able to see him coming from _miles_ away, not run right into him and knock him down like a sleepwalking bulldozer.

Suddenly aware of the fact that he was still staring at the glass pane of the orange mech’s chest, Wing dragged his optics up to the mech’s faceplates. He got a bit of a shock when he encountered the strangest optics he’d ever seen. It almost looked like the smaller mech was wearing some sort of goggles or optics shields, a theory that was confirmed when the mech raised a slightly shaky hand to adjust them to a more comfortable position on his prominent nasal ridge.

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

Rung hated the start of a new semester.

No, maybe not ‘hate’. It was too strong a word and too simplistic to describe the mess of conflicting emotions that filled him at this point in the academic year. Besides, it didn’t do for him to feel too strongly about anything. His overseers were adept at discovering such things and using them against him, no matter how well Rung thought he was hiding them.

Conflicting… _Conflicted_. That was a good word.

So; conflicted it was.

The resumption of life around campus was good; he always looked forward to that. With other studious mechanisms around it was much easier for Rung lose himself in the flow of work instead of dwelling on things he would rather not think about, intellectual stimulus keeping his mind occupied. The quiet weeks of the holidays were difficult to navigate, stretching to take up more subjective time than they logically should. Often Rung would catch himself looking around, trying to find what was missing. Seeing bright, eager new students arrive keen to learn and discover always thrilled him to the core.

It was the one joy _they_ hadn’t managed to destroy.

What Rung _didn’t_ like was the influx of new students who had yet to learn to avoid the place their processor wasn’t paying attention to; to go _around_ Rung instead of trying to go through him.

Like that jet this morning.

He still hadn’t had time to do more than rub at the worst scrapes to smooth them out a little, Rung mused while carefully raising his cube of mild, lukewarm mid-grade to his lipplates and sipping. This wasn’t the best of days, although he’d had much worse. Even though he needed both hands to lift the cube to his mouth Rung was well enough to concentrate. He’d become utterly engrossed in chasing down some rather obscure source material and simply… forgotten. Lost himself in the pursuit of knowledge and entirely forgotten the aches of his frame and his physical appearance.

Sometimes being mostly invisible had its benefits. Nobody commented or looked sideways at him for collecting paint transfers and scrapes from simply walking around campus, and if he got a corner table in the large open café plaza Rung was guaranteed an uninterrupted lunch break of peace, quiet and people-watching.

 _That lot doesn’t like to leave the department much_.

Today he had secured a little-used table up on the second floor balcony beside a wall of windows. Even though the weather had driven everyone indoors he was all but guaranteed a relaxing, solitary hour to refuel in perfect safety. It was rather ironic that a small, fragile civilian-class frametype as easily overlooked and damaged as himself was safer in a crowd than in his own office. Rung turned the thought over briefly, indulging himself in deriving a little dark amusement it before consigning the thread to deletion.

 _Don’t think about that now_.

Flashes of white plating in the crowd brought to mind the jet from earlier in the day and Rung latched onto the new thought path with a quiver of relief. Being bumped into happened to him so often that it was simply a fact of life; going outside and getting new scrapes were synonymous in his experience. Being knocked down wasn’t uncommon either. But few mechanisms stopped to help him up and _nobody_ asked after his wellbeing with genuine concern in their Fields.

And to date only _one_ mech had ever asked for Rung’s designation.

Rung replayed the memory file as he sipped his energon, frowning to himself and searching obsessively for the smallest clue that this was another test.

_Wing. What an odd designation._

The Flightframe had a pleasant voice and his pronunciation wasn’t local. It sounded like something foreign tempered with years of living in Iacon, retaining only the strongest markers of his earlier speech patterns.

As if thinking of the jet had somehow summoned him, the vivid EM Field tingled at the edge of Rung’s senses moments before glossy white plating came into visual rage.

“Is it alright if I sit here?” Those vocal cadences Rung had just been mentally analysing were filled with polite inquiry.

 _Unusual_.

Normally Rung would be overlooked, the empty seat going unfilled as the optics of other mechanisms slid right over Rung and the table he occupied. If someone _did_ happen to fill the empty chair they would ignore his silent presence completely as they consumed their own meal in a hurry to avoid the conflict he created in their environmental awareness scripts.

Nobody ever acknowledged him or _asked_ his permission to share the table.

It put him on edge, wondering again if this was one of Froid’s games as the stranger keep speaking.

 _Froid’s or worse –one of_ theirs _._

“I’m sorry to intrude, it’s just there aren’t any other window tables left and- Oh, it’s you!”

When the words and the delighted tone of voice they were uttered in finally filtered through to the consciously working levels of Rung’s processor the shock of it nearly fritzed his brain module. He looked up, stunned, to see Wing looking directly at him with a nervous smile on his faceplates and a try of assorted lunchables in his black-plated hands.


	2. First Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When your life is a maze of funhouse mirrors even a simple conversation becomes a minefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An unedited version of this went up on Tumblr a while back.  
> This is taking forever and I am sorry.

# TWO

 

Rung’s hands tightened around his plebeian cube of midgrade as his processor whirled, desperately trying to figure out what was going on.

“By all means.” Rung said, resetting his vocaliser and striving for a polite and neutral tone. “You are welcome to sit with me if you wish.”

“Thank you,” The jet’s voice filled with relief, his Field expressing gratitude as he sat opposite Rung. His optics crinkled at the corners as he smiled with what appeared to be genuine friendliness, the wide cheekpieces of his helm twitching slightly. “It’s Rung, isn’t it? I bumped into you this morning. Are you alright?”

_He recognised… He remembered… Oh, Primus below!_

“Yes, I am quite alright.” His processor scrambled, creating hypotheses and trying to find one that fit the situation.

Not a single ripple showed on his calm surface to hint at the furious spirals his thoughts were moving in. Wing looked relieved at the news, his Field expressing _pleased/apology_ where it lay comfortably against the edge of Rung’s in a light social contact as he tucked into his lunch. The smaller mech lowered his cube to the table, placing it carefully between himself and the jet in a pathetic attempt at creating fortifications, lacing his fingers around the solid shape of the plasma membrane containing his lunch.

It was weak. A purely psychological defence. It was all he had.

“Did you make it to class alright?” Rung tried to take control of the conversation, hoping to find some clues about the jet’s purpose in seeking him out. Or if he had indeed sought him out at all. Past experience led him to strongly discount the probability of this being an accident, but no matter how small the possibility was, this could still be random chance. “You seemed to be rather worried.”

As Wing’s mouth was full of something crunchy (the sounds sent sympathy pains through Rung’s helm) he shook his head and swallowed his mouthful politely before speaking.

“I did, thanks to your directions. I know the first week is only preliminaries and doesn’t count for much but I still don’t want to miss anything, just in case.”

Was there a double meaning in those words? Rung wasn’t sure. It was hard to tell with those foreign harmonics and glyph choices flavouring the jet’s speech. He had to choose his reply carefully, buying time to think by taking a long, slow swallow from his cube while his processor raced.

“That is an admirable attitude to have,” Rung said with a faint smile as he set the cube down on the table again, firmly between them. “Especially when it comes to your education. Even if, as you say, the preliminary lectures don’t contain material that you will be tested on.” It was more than Rung had intended to say but his vocaliser just kept going, running on without his permission. “You should go far if you approach the rest of your studies the same way.”

Finally Rung managed to wrest control of his vocaliser back from whatever strange impulse was controlling it, shutting it off firmly. A lengthy conversation was the _last_ thing he wanted, especially not with the way the jet’s flaring cheekpieces twitched forward as if to better catch his vocalisations and his Field flushed with pride and wriggled against Rung’s in an echo of the way his armour rippled. It seemed to be genuine, it was definitely endearing and if Rung was to bait a trap for himself it would be with something dangerously similar to the blushing mech sharing his table.

“Thank you,” Wing said, a slight flush of heat tingeing his faceplates again. “I hope you’re right. Everything here is so unfamiliar; it’s hard for me to understand what’s going on sometimes.”

_Damn_.

Rung’s curiosity was piqued; there was no way around it. And when he was curious about something he didn’t stop investigating until his curiosity was satisfied. It was inescapable; conditioning built on a strong foundation of natural inclination so that it was impossible for him to try breaking himself of the habit of chasing down an enigma when it presented itself.

Especially when the tendency was reinforced so often.

That thought looped in Rung’s processor, repeating a few times as sinking feeling crept over him and stole what remained of his appetite. He dropped his gaze, studying the wavering reflection of his faceplates in his partially-consumed cube of midgrade as a best fit hypothesis for the situation pinged the forefront of his processors, covered with urgent tags and coloured with warning and fear.

_So this_ is _a test. I had hoped…_

He had to play along, absolutely _had_ to comply and go along with whatever this was.

_Nothing_ good would come of revealing that he’d figured it out so soon.

“Your armour and designation suggest that you are not from Iacon.” Rung said with calculated casualness, looking back up at Wing. “May I ask which city-state you hail from?”

With all of Rung’s senses on alert there was no mistaking the way the jet wilted slightly, his Field withdrawing and closing off a little. He appeared to be bracing himself for something. Just that little flicker was enough for Rung’s analytical subroutines went crazy coming up with possibly reasons why the jet would be acting that way, working so intensely that Rung felt the distinctive ache of an overheating brain module build within his helm.

“I was originally from Kalis.” Wing’s first sentence emerged slowly, but the rest followed in a rush. “But in order to become an Apprentice I had to give up all ties to my past, so you _could_ say I’m a naturalised Iaconan.”

A too-bright smile aimed at him from across the table made it look as though whoever had coached Wing hadn’t done a very good job of it. Rung felt his guess was right as Wing fidgeted with his tray and tried to take back control of the conversation.

“So what do you do here, Rung?” Wing asked, waving a hand vaguely to indicate the campus.

It was so patently innocent it _had_ to be an act. There was no way Wing would single Rung out like this if he hadn’t been ordered to from the start.

It was almost funny how badly the jet was handling the ‘meet-the-mark’ phase of his assignment.

_Of course, that_ could _just be part of his persona for this._

Rung would have laughed if he hadn’t felt so sick.

Instead of answering, he stalled by raising his cube to his mouth, pretending to drink until he was certain he had his expression under control. While his Field was a marvel of smooth politeness he wasn’t used to having to control his faceplates so much and the way Wing kept looking at him was unnerving to a mech used to being essentially invisible.

“I’m a postdoctoral research fellow, attached to the Psychology department.” Rung said with a self-deprecating smile. “It’s all very dry and academic, but research does have a certain kind of charm.”

Wing opened his mouth to say something, then flushed and bit his lip.

_He’s either really bad at this or a truly outstanding actor._

In any case, Rung decided to make things little easier for Wing.

“My I ask what you are studying, Wing?” He asked; projecting warm curiosity into the other mech’s uncomfortably twitchy Field.

“Oh!” Wing seemed to be genuinely surprised by the question. “Um, Surveying and Geography, with a focus on geomorphology and resource management.”  A self-deprecating smile and a nervous flick of guidance flaps across his nacelles accompanied his answer. “At least, that’s what I’m planning on studying. All the lecturers this morning seemed to expect me to change my major within the next few weeks.”

_Clever, clever mech._

If Rung hadn’t already taken the bait, then the anomaly of a Flightframe that had (apparently) chosen to study something that involved long hours ground-bound even when he wasn’t welded to a seat in the lecture halls would have hooked him for sure. Wing’s flightpanels were twitching again and Rung relaxed a little as the white-plated mech finally turning his attention from him and back to his lunch tray, eating with neat bites.

“I can see why they’d think so; those are unusual areas of study for flightframes.” Rung kept his tone neutral, hoping that the handsome jet wouldn’t think he was judging him negatively for the choice. “Don’t let their attitudes put you off, but don’t feel ashamed of switching focus if you find something that interests you more. What was it that drew you to those subjects? ”

Wing’s optics snapped back up to stare at him and Rung had a sudden desire to hide.

“As part of our apprenticeship, Knights are encouraged to study something that interests us but also takes us outside our comfort zones, so we gain a greater understanding of the universe as a whole.” Wing explained carefully, not taking his optics off Rung. “I’ve always been curious about why different landforms make air currents act the way they do, but I never thought about how the ground got into those shapes before Axe suggested I try finding out.”

The explanation was given with a little shrug and a charming grin that would have been enough to distract Rung from the glaring holes in Wing’s story if he hadn’t already figured out that this was a test. He pretended to sip from his cube again as the level of background noise increased and foot traffic picked up around them, students heading to the next class.

_Not the_ whole _truth, but enough of it to make the rest hold together. What is he hiding?_

Suddenly Wing’s expression changed, going from happy and open to mildly annoyed. Even though his Field held apology as well as the annoyance the unexpected change put Rung even more uneasy than he already had been. He watched warily as Wing quickly packaged up the fuel still left on his tray and slipped it into subspace before giving him a sheepish look.

“I’m sorry; I forgot I had class right after lunch.” Wing said, picking up his tray and standing. “Thank you for letting me sit with you, Rung. I really enjoyed talking to you. See you around?”

It was a common phrase of parting Rung heard students and faculty use often, but the way Wing made a question of it with hope and nervous anticipation fizzing through his Field and almost shouting from the set of his armour made Rung’s spark jump a little in his chest.

Even though he knew better, Rung still _wanted_.

“It is very likely that we will run into each other again in the future.” Rung couldn’t help teasing Wing, just to watch his cheekpieces twitch. Then his vocaliser betrayed him. “In fact, I look forward to it.”

The blazing smile and happy press of EMF he got before Wing departed was worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know where Wing is from in canon but I've decided to make him Kalisian for plot reasons.  
> Also seeing Wing with one of those surveying things in the miniseries is giving me the excuse to exorcise YEARS of frustration from of dodging teams of Surveying freshers all over campus. Also dealing with them in ENGL papers, omfg.


	3. Lies and Misconceptions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When one is alive on sufferance no chance encounter is taken for granted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> holy shit has it really been 11 months since the last update?! Fuckin hell I'm sorry TnT

# THREE

 

The memory of that brilliant smile buoyed Rung, carrying him through the next fortnight as he was forced to leave his research and endure another round of testing and prodding. Rung didn’t expect anything like conversation from the scientists who probed his frame as he transformed for them and wasn’t disappointed when they excluded him from their remarks as was usual.

But as matters stood, the white jet –Wing- was far too interesting a puzzle for Rung’s peace of mind. Deep within himself he knew that it would be better to observe the jet from a distance, avoid him without seeming to until another meeting could be contrived. If it had been an accident, then the young jet would forget about him and life would continue as normal. If not, then…

_Would it be best to take matters into my own hands, or wait for_ them _to do something?_

He wasn’t sure what would be the safest course of action.

If this was a test then either option would lead to the same result. So far his watchers had made no mention of Rung’s two encounters with the jet, but he knew that their silence didn’t necessarily mean ignorance. After all, in the past several experiments of this nature had almost entirely run their course before either Trepan or Froid appeared to notice anything. So they could very well be operating under orders to pretend not to notice, or else be waiting for Rung to bring it up himself.

If this _wasn’t_ a test then the last thing Rung wanted to do was to draw his handlers’ attention to the young jet. He couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ be responsible for ruining an innocent mech’s life.

_Follow established behaviour patterns, don’t give them anything new. New data would mean_ more _hypotheses for them to test..._

As was routine, when they were finished with Rung he was delivered to campus instead of his apartment building. The soft carrybag slung over his shoulder slapped against aching transformation seams as he forced his pedes to take him to his office, to drop off the ‘findings’ from his ‘research trip’ before he could go home. Hyperaware of his surroundings despite his fatigue he kept looking for aerodynamic white armour even as he deliberately chose a path that would reduce the risk of running into the jet if he was currently on campus.

His own strong response to Wing scared him. There was a very good possibility that his responses were being manufactured or even amplified. The quiet corridors echoed his pedesteps back to him, mocking the paranoid circling of his thoughts.

_Too many variables and not enough information as yet. I need to be patient._

As he unlocked his office and dropped the carrybag on his desk Rung was suddenly, keenly aware that this could be the test that finally broke him, or else an accident that could potentially lead to the same result.

No matter what the truth of the matter was, the outcome would be the same.

The shock of this twin realisation numbed him, kept him moving normally as he re-locked his office and left campus.

_But if Wing_ isn’t _one of theirs then I risk taking an innocent down with me…_

Rung barely noticed the inevitable impacts with other mechs, simply correcting his course after each collision until he reached his apartment building and sagged against the wall of an otherwise unoccupied elevator. The floor number ticked steadily upwards; seeming to move slower the longer he watched it.

Rung didn’t own or even rent the apartment he lived in. In some way or another it belonged to the Council, in the same way he did. It was currently in their interest to keep him alive and let him have this illusion of freedom but they didn’t have to make it comfortable for him. It was small, situated on one of the highest levels assigned to those without flight-capable altmodes. There was no access to the Skyroads, those narrow bridgelike highways stretching from tower to tower across the groundframe-dominated metropolises of Cybertron, connecting the higher levels and turning the skyline into a fanciful lacelike sculpture of metal and light.

With his immobile altmode and small stature it was a cruel joke to place Rung here, in this apartment with the tiny rail-less balcony that taunted him with impossible fantasies of escape.

Another calculated cruelty in a lifetime filled with them.

Normally Rung felt the full sting of this intentional insult but today the familiar degradation went unnoticed, rolling right off the fresh horror that had its claws in him. Somehow he remembered to leave the elevator when it stopped, made it to his apartment and let himself in. The heating blanket was right where he’d left it, hanging by the door. All he had to do was reach out and grab it as he shuffled past.

Instead of heading straight for his berth Rung shuffled to the couchlike thing pushed up against the balcony wall. It would have been an armchair for a standard-sized mech but it would easily seat two mechs Rung’s size. It was actually large enough to recharge on quite comfortably if he curled up. One benefit of living at this elevation was that there was enough natural light during the day cycle that he could even read without needing to drain datapad power with backlighting to make the words legible. On days when the university was closed or he hurt too much to make the trip Rung often curled up in his chair with research ‘pads to take advantage of the light.

Right now he ignored the stack of datapads next to the chair, dragging himself into the seat and angling his aching, weary frame so that he could see a tiny sliver of grey-tinted sky far above. Finding the sight more comforting than he ever had before, Rung found himself able to initiate recharge almost as soon as the heat of the blanket took the edge off his aches.

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

Despite Rung’s promise, Wing didn’t see the small orange mech around campus again for quite a while. It was an ever-present hope, the memory of their lunchtime conversation growing more important  to Wing as he found himself to be the only Flightframe in a lot of his classes. So far, Rung had been the only one to really take him seriously besides his mentors at the Citadel of Light when it came to his chosen field.

_He_ did _warn me about this. But he didn’t act like I was a freak for picking this major, either._

First one week had passed, and then another slipped by without seeing that small orange frame in any of the places Wing hoped to find him. When Wing first entered the library he found himself wishing desperately for Rung’s help. Then again minutes later when he found himself confronted with the sheer size of the place and its inscrutable, complex organisation system.

_He said he was a researcher, so he’d probably know this place inside-out_.

Somehow (a miracle, he figured) Wing managed to muddle through and hand in his first completed research assignment. He didn’t feel any wiser for the experience and began to seriously question his reasons for choosing this path.

Then nearly three weeks after their first Wing thought he saw a familiar flash of familiar orange armour in the middle of a crowd of groundframes leaving the library.

_I wonder, is it…?_

With all his classes done for the day and no assignments due Wing had plenty of free time before evening training to indulge his curiosity. He changed direction, feeling his spark flutter strangely. The larger group broke up, little knots of mecha moving towards various destinations. Nobody Wing could see now had orange armour.

Then a stout mech sidestepped for no reason Wing could see, something prompting him to look closer as the mech was hailed by some of the library-leavers.

Wing cycled his optics several times, armour twitching with surprise as a familiar orange frame seemed to fade into existence, walking much slower than the mechs around him. Delight filled Wing and before he could talk himself out of bothering the busy mech –Rung had an armload of datapads, walking fast with his helm down- Wing was at his side.

“Hi, Rung!” The greeting was too informal from a student to a researcher, but Wing was too excited to care. “I haven’t seen you around in _ages_ , how are you?”

Slim antennae flicked agitatedly as Rung stopped and turned to face him. For a moment Wing almost thought the small mech looked upset before that familiar pleasant smile spread across his face. There was no point trying to mingle Fields in this crowd but Wing couldn’t resist the desire to extend his hand in a common greeting gesture. Relief at seeing a friendly face again overrode all consideration for the proper protocol for addressing someone who was his social superior within the university.

A small frown creased Rung’s forehead –probably aimed at Wing’s lack of social graces- but he didn’t speak. Carefully rearranging his armload of datapads, Rung freed a hand so he could brush the back of his knuckles over Wing’s palm. The brief contact allowed Wing to feel the confused muddle of Rung’s Field, with stress and strut-deep tiredness being the dominant emotions. Rung’s frown faded the instant their Fields touched, faceplates going blank.

_How hard has he been working lately?_

“I have been well.” Rung responded after cradling his datapads carefully again, his smile returning. “I undertook a research trip away from Iacon recently; the wealth of data I discovered has been keeping me very busy, I’m afraid.”

They chatted for a while, Wing feeling overjoyed to see a friendly face again.

For some reason Rung didn’t seem want to talk about his research trip, neatly dodging the subject every time Wing tried to ask about it. When Wing had to leave or risk being late for training he said farewell and hurried in the direction of the nearest Flightframe landing area, spark singing in his chest.

 

### ~V~V~V~

 

Rung watched the Flightframe’s distinctive white flightpanels flick and twitch as the mech bounced away through the thinning crowd. Evening sunlight bathed the open, sky-exposed space in warm orange light that did nothing to counteract the slow freezing of his spark.

This encounter was too convenient, the jet remembering him better than any normal mech ever should. It confirmed his suspicions.

Wing was one of _theirs_.

Clutching his datapads closer with shaking hands, Rung forced himself to begin walking. It didn’t matter where his pedes took him, so long as his watchers suspected nothing. His thoughts moved sluggishly as despair settled over him, a familiar weight bowing his shoulders and filling his lines with lead.

_So… this_ is _a test._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love Rung. I love being mean to him. He's 3rd equal with Wing for my favourite robutt punching bag.


End file.
